


Minor Holidays and Major Irritations

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Chanukah, F/M, Holidays, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur hates the holidays. But Ariadne is very good at changing his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Holidays and Major Irritations

Arthur detested the holidays. As a kid he'd hated the whole thing, everything from Thanksgiving to New Year's consumed by garish red and green and tinsel that got everywhere and some of the worst music ever composed in human history. He liked Chanukah, but he resented that it needed to be turned into a competitor to Christmas. Growing older, he fell away from his faith and his family and his old life, but the month of December was still one long irritation. Like a pebble in his shoe. He was relieved when he went overseas and the sheer volume of Christmas cheer diminished, even if it meant being in the middle of a war zone.

In dreamshare, the cycle of the year ceased to have the same meaning. A week could last months if sedation was applied beyond the usual dose of somnacin, and the thieves and smiling con men of the underground weren't really the types to remember holidays. If Arthur kept the television off and avoided the high street, it was easier to pretend he wasn't annoyed. Sometimes he'd catch sight of one incongruous menorah in a shop window and have a moment where his stomach turned, seized by something like homesickness and loneliness and shame, and he'd hear one of his sisters telling him that guilt was the most Jewish of emotions. But mostly he tried to tune out the entire holiday. Or to spend as much of December under as he could. 

Mal loved the holidays, of course, in the way she loved everything that crossed her path; artlessly and completely and with a careless elegance. Arthur had relented in his hatred a little, charmed by his friend's wife as he was in so many other ways, and he even brought her presents when that time of year rolled around. And presents for the children, too, when they came along; they were easy to love, easy to spoil. But he never stayed for the holiday, never celebrated with the family. It wasn't his holiday. It wasn't his family, not really.

When Mal died, Arthur went back to hating December with a passion. Accompanying Cobb on the run made the weeks and months blend together into one long chain of jobs and heists and narrow escapes. 

And then Cobb went home. And Arthur met Ariadne. Actually got to know her as a person, not just the frighteningly brilliant prodigy who could turn dreamshare on its ear and run away laughing. Learned about her love of terrible puns and how she learned to play chess and her fondness for oversized mugs and the noise she made when he sucked on just the right spot on her neck and a thousand other facts and tidbits. He took a vacation after the Fischer job, then kept swinging through Paris between jobs, staying longer each time, noting without further comment how she made room for his suits in her closet and gave him the same mug every time he's there for coffee in the morning. 

He happened to take a job in Singapore that December. But he had already heard her talk about how she loved Christmas in Paris, how she missed the cut-your-own-tree farms of her New England childhood, how she always ended up making gingerbread and burning the edges because she was a truly terrible cook but couldn't resist making her tiny apartment smell like molasses and spice. And Arthur had the sense of something large and heavy and ugly bearing down on him, something festooned with jingle bells and stinking of pine.

By the time he came back to Paris in January, the garlands had been taken down and the fallen needles and tinsel swept away. Ariadne had called him at midnight to wish him a happy new year, telling him she hoped he'd be there next year for it. He kissed her properly when he made it back to her apartment to make up for it. 

As the year wore on, as Arthur finally gave up pretense and accepted that he was in a relationship and in love and officially living in Paris, he didn't give a whole lot of thought to the holidays. He mentioned something about Passover once, but Ariadne was lapsed enough that she didn't drag him to Easter mass, and the summer and fall wore away with the sporadic intensity of jobs and the long, slow breaks between them. Arthur ignored the high holidays as he had for years, and all seemed well.

One day in December he came home to find a menorah perched on the windowsill. Silver, simple, and plain, with a fresh box of candles next to it.

"What's this?" he asked, when Ariadne came in. She fidgeted and frowned a little.

"Was I not supposed to get one? I didn't know if it was one of those things you're supposed to have given to you, or if it was okay for me to buy one for you since I'm not Jewish, but…"

"It's okay," he said, cutting her off. "I just wasn't expecting it. I haven't celebrated in…" Arthur trailed off, realizing he couldn't remember. "Since I was a kid." 

"Well," she said, looking at the menorah and back up at him, her chin getting that tilt that meant she was about to be incredibly stubborn or incredibly brilliant or both. "I know I go a little overboard with the Christmas stuff. And I know it's not really your thing. So I thought it might be nice for you to have this. We don't have to, if you don't want. Or I can bring it back. I think." She frowned again.

Arthur picked up the menorah, surprised by how weighty it seemed to be in his hands. Smaller than his mother's, but big enough for real candles. "No," he said finally, setting it down. "You don't need to bring it back. I just. I wasn't expecting it." Why was his throat suddenly tight? 

Ariadne looked up at him with a crooked little smile tugging at one side of her mouth. "So you like it?"

"Yeah," he said eventually. "I do. Thank you," he added, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. The familiar gesture made her smile even out, made him breathe a little easier. 

Of course, that didn't make it easier when Ariadne approached him a few days later with a large box wrapped in blue and white paper. 

"What's this?"

"Early Chanukah present?" she suggested. He was curious enough that he took the box and opened it without objecting that the holiday wasn't even for another week.

Inside was a sweater, folded neatly. The mustard and navy blue print was just muted enough not to be completely eye-searing. But it wasn't till he lifted it out that the knitted design resolved into…

"Are those dreidels?" he asked, looking over at her and then back at the sweater. Interlocking dreidels, with six-pointed stars embossed on the buttons. Dear lord.

He looked back at Ariadne. Now that he thought about it, she was wearing a festive sweater of her own - some thrifted monstrosity with what were clearly supposed to be reindeer and trees. 

"Ariadne. Did… did you get me an ugly Christmas sweater?"

"Ugly Chanukah sweater," she supplied. Her smile was fading a little bit. Arthur set the box to one side and pulled Ariadne over, kissing her hair.

"I love you," he said gently, "but there are limits."

"I'm not the one who planned the ugly sweater party," she protested. "I just didn't want you to feel left out."

"I appreciate the gesture."

"But you're not going to wear it."

"Not a snowball's chance in hell," he agreed.

Still, the sweater found a place tucked away behind his sweater vests and v-necks. And every time Arthur saw it lurking at the back of the drawer he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you can buy [ugly Chanukah sweaters](http://www.geltfiend.com/collections/apparel).


End file.
